Last summer I pressed the delightful flowers you picked for me between thin paper to capture their beauty somehow.
Shades of red, yellow and orange painted the leaves when fall touched the air and you pressed your body to mine as I stood slightly shaking from the cool air, or love.
Winter hit hard and each time the snow blanketed the ground, you pressed your lips to mine.
Days are longer now as spring announces it is here to stay and the last blizzard becomes a cold memory.
Standing with my lips pressed to this letter, I find it hard to believe you are not with me. No text or chat box open will allow me to express how I feel. Now I’m frightened of what I’ve written.
Written for Magpie Tales